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It was in ſweet July,
When flowers were blooming,
This young man and I
Together did meet;
Then with his intreating,
Set my heart a aching,
And with his lies making
Cauſes me now to weep.
O! death, come and eaſe me,
Since grief it hath ſeiz’d me,
The wound which I bear,
No mortal can cure:
My ſpirits are dying,
My breath it is flying,
My heart it is breaking,
O! the pains I endure.
O young man, moſt cruel,
You have wrought my ruin,
In cropping my flowers,
Young, tender and green,
Delays will diſcover,
I'm a wounded lover,
Since you diſcover
What now, you have ſeen.
GLASGOW,
Printed by J. & M. ROBERTSON
Saltmarket, 1799.
